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…impossible! My grandfather I remember always in the garden of our family mansion. So what would I say if I had the chance to be with him once more in the garden? Somehow I have the feeling we wouldn’t talk that much. We’d just plant, weed, water – side by side. Once in a while he would hiss at me if I did something wrong.

I would like him to know that I am profoundly grateful for all the knowledge he imparted to me about nature. Only in later years I realised how much I learned from him. He didn’t really teach me. It just came naturally. I am told often by others how impressive my knowledge is about plants, trees and birds and I owe it all to him. I had my own little piece of land in his garden. I could plant whatever I wanted. I had a cherry tree. Sometimes flowers, sometimes a few potatoes or herbs. He always seriously discussed with me my plans for the growing season. He always grew a bit of everything. Green beans always. Tomatos, parsley, carrots, strawberries, sometimes also potatos and always: Flowers. He also kept birds in an outside volière. Canary birds. Their singing is one of the sounds I associate most strongly with childhood. The waking up on summer days to the sound of competing canary-males giving all to impress the ladies with their most divine arias.

My grandfather worked for the telecom for most of his life, but basically he always remained what he had been forced to become in the war time: a sailor. His vocabulary was colourful and sensual, he could swear like hell in the peculiar accent of his birthplace in the east of Germany that he never lost, even though he never returned there after the age of 24. He and my grandmother were married for 55 years. Most of the time I remember them together they were fighting. Or rather: my grandmother was nagging, he was answering once or twice and then he took the French beret that he was always wearing outside, and went into the garden. Until the present day there is a green bench on which he used to sit with the gentleman from next door having extensive conversations. This neighbour (another character for a separate story) is still alive. Also my grandmother is seeing now her 86th year, suffering from arthritis but still completely clear in her mind. She is profoundly pissed off at the fact, that my grandfather left her alone in 1996 to face really old age alone. I am sure he just took the chance to have the opportunity to already make the garden ready where he will wait for her – looking forward having again someone to fight with…

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